


A Breath in the Dark

by summerhall



Category: General Hospital
Genre: F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerhall/pseuds/summerhall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Dante's in Ireland, Kristina sneaks over at night to visit Michael.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Breath in the Dark

They sit out on the fire escape outside Dante's apartment, their feet hanging over the edge, dangling forty feet above the ground. Neither of them holds onto the hand rail that sits level with their forehead; they're enjoying the thrill too much. The exhilaration's not much, certainly not as much as what they've become accustomed to, but the knowledge that if you shifted up just a little farther, if you sat up and just let go... it was enough for the moment.

Kristina's snuck over the past three nights. She claims it's because she can't sleep, and she hates the thought of him alone in the apartment since Dante's off on his Irish Adventure. ( _And what an Irish Adventure it is if it's anything like what they'd imagined for him on her first night over. They'd spent half the night and a half pack of beer speaking in increasingly slurred brogues and coming up with the most outrageous situations for their brother to get himself into on the Emerald Isle. Michael was infinitely more disappointed than he would have been sober when Kristina told him that kilts were, in fact, Scottish._ ) Michael hasn't decided yet whether she's lying, but he really doesn't care. He likes her company too much to waste their time dissecting her reasoning.

Truth is, he feels peaceful sitting next to her. With her swaddled by one of his jackets, a cold beer in his hand, and their arms and thighs slightly brushing as they exhale, he feels better than he has in a long time. The need to run from contact, from conversation, it's all gone.

He wonders if this is what healing feels like. He wonders if she feels it too.

The chilly wind blows around them, and she presses against him, her head finding his shoulder. Michael wraps his arm around her, pulling her closer. Her hand rests on his knee, and the peaceful feeling in his chest flutters for several seconds.

Kristina stands suddenly, saying something about getting another beer, or if there are any left at all, but Michael stops her, grabbing her hand before he's even realized that he's moved. He doesn't hear what she's rambling, and he doesn't care, all he knows is that the wind is chilly against his side and he's enjoying their moment (and the fluttery feeling in his chest) too much for it to end.

"Don't go." He realizes how foolish he sounds after he says it; like she's going away for good and he'll be left alone on the fire escape forever.

The abandoned movie on the TV in the apartment flashes brightly and he catches a glimpse of her blushing face. "I'm just going to the kitchen." She says with a light laugh, as if her cheeks aren't the color of the overripe tomatoes Dante left on the counter.

Michael can't think of anything to say that doesn't make him sound like a needy idiot, so he says nothing, focusing instead on her tiny hand, still gripped loosely in his, and the bright color she's painted her fingernails. It's a shame, he thinks, that she won't let anyone get close enough to touch her, to feel and hold these soft hands.

"I'm letting _you_." She says quietly, crouching down to his level.

It takes him a moment to realize that he'd spoken his thoughts aloud, but when he does, Michael nearly chokes on his own embarrassment. The flutter that had been in his chest drops to the bottom of his stomach just as the blood rises to his cheeks. It takes him an even longer moment to process what she said, and longer still to form a coherent reply. "I don't count."

Kristina's smiling at him, at his flushed face, and sweaty palms, and averted eyes. She hesitates only slightly in reaching for his face and raising his chin, making him look at her in the dark. "Who says?"

He wants to tell her _everyone_. He wants to name names, and list off exactly every reason why he _shouldn't_ be leaning in to her, and she _shouldn't_ be getting closer, and their lips _shouldn't_ be so close that he can almost taste the beer on her lips. He wants to do all of that, to give her every explanation possible as to why this is wrong- but with her less than a breath away, he can't think of a single one.


End file.
